"That's Puck. He's an asshole."
"Mac!"
"He is! Watch this." Mac reached toward Puck, who immediately batted his hand away with one white-socked paw. "See? Asshole."
"He's perfect." Rachel moved toward Puck slowly, extending one hand. Puck sniffed it suspiciously. "Hi, Puck. I'm Rachel. I have a cat named Mr. Darcy who's just as judgmental as you."
Puck, traitor that he was, bumped his head against Rachel's hand.
"Are you kidding me?" Mac stared. "He never does that. He barely tolerates me and I feed him."
"Cats know good people." Rachel scratched behind Puck's ears, and the cat, who Mac had never, ever heard purr, started purring. Loudly.
"I've had him for three years. Three years! And he's never purred for me."
"Maybe you're not scratching the right spot."
"I've tried every spot. Trust me."
Rachel laughed, continuing to pet Puck, who had rolled onto his back in complete submission.
The water finally started boiling. Mac added the pasta with what he hoped looked like confidence, then turned his attention to the sauce he'd prepared earlier. Or rather, the jarred sauce he'd bought and planned to pretend was homemade until Rachel inevitably figured it out.
"So," Rachel said, leaning against the counter, watching him work, "what made you decide to learn hockey?"
"I was five years old. My uncle took me skating and I was terrible at it, kept falling on my ass, and he said 'Want to learn to play?' and I said yes." Mac stirred the sauce, trying not to burn it. "Never looked back. What about you? When did you fall in love with books?"
"Always loved them, I think. But seriously? When I was seven. My father left when I was young, and my mom didn't really know what to do with a sad kid, so she just... bought mebooks. Lots of them. I disappeared into stories for a year." Rachel's voice softened. "Books saved me, I guess."
Mac's heart clenched. "Rachel, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"It's okay. It was a long time ago. And honestly? Books are still saving me. Every time life gets too complicated, I just open a book and disappear for a while."
Mac wanted to ask if Brad had been one of those "too complicated" times she'd needed to escape from. But something told him not to push. Not tonight.
"My mom passed away in child birth, having me," Mac said quietly.
Rachel's hand found his, squeezing gently. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me too." Mac squeezed back. "We don't have to talk about sad stuff. This is supposed to be a fun evening."
"Talking about real things is fun. Well, not fun, but meaningful. I like meaningful."
"Meaningful. I can do meaningful." Mac checked the pasta, which seemed to be cooking properly, thank God. "So, meaningful question: what's your cats deal? Mr. Darcy. Why'd you name him after the most famous romantic hero in literature?"
"Because he's grumpy and standoffish and secretly has a soft heart." Rachel smiled. "Also because I was reading Pride and Prejudice when I adopted him, and he gave me the exact same look Mr. Darcy gives Elizabeth at the beginning of the book. Pure disdain."
"I haven't gotten to that part yet. Or I missed it…"
"You're still reading it?" Rachel's face lit up. "Really?"
"Currently on Chapter Twelve. Mr. Darcy just visited Elizabeth while she was staying with the Bingleys, and I have no idea what he's thinking. Is he into her or not? Mixed signals, Darcy."
"That's the whole point! You're supposed to be as confused as Elizabeth!"
"Well, it's working. I'm very confused." Mac tested the pasta. It was finally done. He drained it, proud he'd made it this far without disaster.
Then he turned back to the sauce.
